(Corregidor, P. I. - 1924)
The Stygian dark is stabbed with swords
Of silver flaming light.
The grey guns couched, arise to speak,
Shatt'ring the silent night.
With blood red tongues of living flame
They searched the rippling sea
Where lifting, hissing, passed the ships -
The ships we would not see.
The servants of the great grey guns
In sleepless patience wait
Until the warders of the lights
Align their beams full straight
On grey ghosts coursing through the waves
To force the seaward gate.
TenEyck Van Deusen